22. The Year That Changed Us: Grief in the Time of Lockdown.

The Year That Changed Us: Grief in the Time of Lockdown

This was a truly horrible year (2020).

I’ve lost acquaintances, friends, and close family but the most painful, unexpected loss has been my children.

Not in the physical sense, but emotionally.
The connection, the closeness, the ease of our bond it’s all changed.

Our family, like so many others, has been deeply affected by the pandemic in ways we’re only just beginning to understand.
Confinement something usually reserved as a punishment for criminals was something we all had to endure for over a year. And now, it seems the government is extending that sentence by another six months.

I’m not sure if my family, as I once knew it, will ever return.
But I do know one thing for certain: we will never be the same again.

With no outlet for emotions or frustrations, except with the very people who are triggering your temporary insanity it’s a mental and emotional strain that’s hard to put into words.

And for hormonal teenagers trying to transition into adulthood without the usual freedom to escape, socialise, or release tension outside the home the pressure is unbearable. It’s a stress that hasn’t yet been fully recognised, let alone understood.

We are a family still breathing, still surviving but not untouched, and certainly not unchanged with teen rebelion compounded by the removal of all release valves.

*Update*

The real effects of this year have now and continue to unfold. The pain is so deep and the loss is unbearable.

21. Pandemic Teens & Rollercoaster Days: Where’s the Manual for This?

Can nothing ever be simple?

Certainly not in my life. It would be nice just once if everything could go according to plan. Just one day where nothing goes sideways. No surprises. No stress. Just peace.

I remember being a child, loving roller coasters the thrill, the rush, the sharp twists and turns.
Now? I dread the next curve.
I brace for what’s coming, because something always is.
I can’t seem to enjoy a single moment of calm because I’m too busy waiting for the chaos to start.

Every time I feel like I’ve got a handle on things, something new pops up.
Every bit of progress is followed by a moment that screams, “Not so fast.”

It leaves me feeling… useless, to say the least.

How do other people deal with this? Do they actually cope? Or are they just better at hiding it?

And don’t even get me started on parenting books.
Honestly, I could shoot every author who’s ever written one.
Because, let’s be real most of them don’t have a clue.

All those pages of fluffy optimism, smiling families, and neat little solutions… please.
Where is the book that talks about this?
This kind of exhaustion. This kind of rage. This kind of heartbreak.

Surely I’m not the only parent riding the drama train.
Although… I might be part of the first generation of parents raising Pandemic Teens—now there’s a terrifying thought.

Comforting?
Not even slightly.

20. Power Plays & Parenting: Lessons from the Garden Shed.

In an attempt to teach the simple lesson of following instructions and doing as you’re told I lost the fight.

  • Crime: Detention at school
  • Punishment: Flatten an area in the garden to prepare for a shed

How did I lose?

Simple. My child understands me better than I realised.

She knows that if she puts in a half-hearted effort just enough to technically follow instructions but not enough to do it properly it’ll annoy me to the point that I’ll step in and finish the task myself.
Job avoided. Mission accomplished (on her terms).

Now, when she was working on the shed area without me around, she was actually more productive. But as soon as I joined her? The game-playing began.

What’s the real lesson here?

I need to learn to step back.
Let her make the mess, do her nonsense but then make her fix it.

I’ve realised I need to correct my own behaviour too especially how I respond. If I allow myself to get wound up, I lose control of the situation.

So here’s the new plan:

  • Give the instruction.
  • Step away.
  • Come back to assess the work.
  • If it’s not up to standard, get her to repeat it until it is.

Sounds simple on paper.
Much harder in practice.

The frustration that comes with defiance is intense. But I mustn’t rise to the bait. I need to stay composed.

And to be fair, I did eventually regain my composure and I got the task done. It just took a lot out of me.

I’ve raised strong-headed individuals.
To survive this journey, I need to be even stronger.
I need to stay focused and see the bigger picture this isn’t just about garden tasks, it’s about shaping character.

19. Choices, Consequences, and the Classroom Code

What’s it all about, really?

You go to school.
You sit in class.
You learn the subject.
You move on.

There’s no need to question the teacher unnecessarily or respond with attitude. You’re there to learn.

So what gives you the impression that you have the right to speak to your teacher in a way that lands you a detention?

Let’s break it down:

  • What was the task you were asked to do?
  • Why didn’t you do it?
  • What do you honestly hope to gain by ignoring it?

Let’s look at this logically.

Nobody likes being on the receiving end of bad news or disappointment. We all feel better around good vibes and positive energy. So why create tension through disruption, defiance, or disrespect?

Is it about pushing back against authority? Maybe. But if so—
Why push so far?
How far is too far?
And when do you recognise that the line has been crossed?

As a parent, I try to explain what appropriate behaviour looks like. I talk about boundaries, about consequences. Cause and effect.

You chose to disrupt your class—whether it affected another pupil or your teacher, you caused an upset.
And instead of showing humility, apologising, or taking responsibility, you acted as if nothing happened—hoping it would blow over.

But it didn’t.
So now, you have a detention at school and a punishment at home.

Let’s be real:
Was the school detention enough to make you think twice? Clearly not.
Was the consequence given the last time less than a month ago enough to change your behaviour?
Still, no.

So what now?

You’ve got nothing I can take away to make a real impact. No devices. No pocket money.
So, that leaves me with alternative consequences:

  • Additional chores.
  • Physical tasks (like holding something until your arms ache).
  • A long conversation about rights, wrongs, and why your choices matter.

Because that’s what this is really about.

No pain, no gain and now it’s time to understand that every choice has a consequence.

18. Oh Well: Standing in the Ashes of Two Roads.

I’m pissed off.
Tired of talking the talk.

I had my way, one that wasn’t yours. You didn’t agree with it. You thought your way was better. So, I did what many of us do: I adapted.
I bent to fit a situation that was unfamiliar, uncomfortable, foreign.

Now here I am.
Your way didn’t work.
But too much time has passed for me to return to mine.
I’m stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing that fits.

And there you are,
sitting comfortably on the outside,
looking in and saying,
“Well, your way worked. Mine didn’t. Oh well.”

Oh well?
OH WELL?
What the hell am I supposed to do with “Oh well”?

Once again, it’s me against the world.
I need to figure this out on my own,
because the truth is, no one else really gets it.
Not the inside. Not the outside.
Not the in-between I’ve been forced to live.

The fire of rage has calmed now.
And maybe now, just maybe, I can see a new path.
The old one is gone.
The better one never was.
So what’s left?

A new one?
My own one?
Let’s see.

17. Lone Parent: Alone by Choice or Circumstance?

What is a lone parent?

Some would say it’s a person raising children on their own. Others might say it’s someone raising children all alone. But what’s the difference?

  • Raising children on your own suggests an element of choice. Perhaps you’ve decided not to involve others, whether due to past experiences, mistrust, or simply knowing it’s easier to go it alone.
  • Raising children all alone, however, is a different story. It’s not always about choice. You may have friends or family around, but they’re emotionally or practically unavailable. They don’t get involved, maybe because they can’t be bothered, or perhaps because they’ve already raised their own children and have no plans to support anyone else’s.

So, whose life is harder?
The parent who is alone by choice, or the parent who is left alone by everyone else?

That’s the real question.

15. Parenting Without a Map: Finding the Balance Between Too Much and Not Enough.

The parenting handbook.
A well-intentioned idea, but ultimately… pointless.

Why? Because by the time you need to read it, you’re too deep in the trenches to flick through a chapter titled “How to Handle a Toddler Tantrum at 3am.”
When you first decide to become a parent, you dive into books about nutrition, sleep routines, baby gear, and how to bounce back post-birth.
But the one thing most forget to read up on, how to be a parent, is often left untouched.
If you’re lucky, someone along the way gives you a bit of guidance. Most of us aren’t that lucky.

Scenario 1: One Child, One Parent

The parent becomes consumed by guilt.
Guilt for the absence of the other parent.
Guilt for not being able to provide everything.
And so, they overcompensate.
They work harder, give more, provide endlessly, filling every gap, but forgetting to nurture the actual child in front of them.

Scenario 2: Two Children, One Parent

Now the parent is not only the provider but also the referee.
Constantly resolving squabbles, splitting time, playing both mum and dad.
You live in a state of constant juggling, trying to be just, trying to be fair.
Exhausting. And worst of all, with no clear end in sight.

So what’s the answer?
Do we stop trying to fill the role of the absent parent and let our child do without?
Some would say yes, that it builds resilience.
Others might say to love them even more, to cuddle them close and shield them from the gap.

Is there a middle ground? And if there is, how do we find it?

Let’s explore a few parenting styles:

  • Authoritarian: Low warmth, high rules. Discipline comes through shame and threats.
  • Permissive: All warmth, no structure. Love is given, but boundaries are non-existent.
  • Uninvolved: No warmth, no rules. A parent in title only.

I’d like to think I don’t fall fully into any of those categories.
But if I’m honest, I touch all of them at times.
Because parenting doesn’t come with presets.
And depending on the day, the mood, the struggle, I shift.
Sometimes too strict.
Sometimes too soft.
Sometimes… just plain tired.

So, here’s the question I leave with you:
What kind of parent do you want to be?
And more importantly, what kind of parent are you?

16. More Than Mum: Reclaiming Me

Who I am isn’t defined by my name or age
What matters most is that I am a mother of two daughters.
I work, not because I love to, but because I have to sustain my life and theirs.
There is no time for play, no space for joy that isn’t filtered through responsibility.
Most of my days are spent in a constant state of alert;
Protecting, preserving, and praying that I don’t lose what I’ve worked so hard to build.

What is security to me?

It’s not money or locks on the door.
It’s freedom, the kind that comes from not needing to rely on anyone unless I choose to.
And right now, I think I finally have that.

What makes me feel safe?

Being aware.
Understanding the dangers that exist and having the ability to move around them quietly, strategically.

I have always enjoyed creating.
I love to take things apart just to see how they work.
Lately, I’ve been trying to upskill myself, not because I have to, but because it keeps me from disappearing into the noise of everyday life.
TV doesn’t do it for me. I want to do, not just watch.

And I’m trying, really trying, to understand me.
Who am I now?
What did I once love?

As a child: I drew. I played netball. I swam. I sang.
As an adult: I dance when I can. I sing when I’m alone. I garden when the sun shows up. I make clothes and dream about holidays that feel out of reach.

I don’t think I get enough time to just be.
There’s always someone needing, asking, expecting.
And most days, it feels like I’m a guest in my own life, like I exist in service to everyone else.

Even my children, whom I love endlessly, sometimes bully and dictate.
I have to remind myself: They are in my space. I am not in theirs.

What do I want?

I want appreciation, for me.
Not for what I can do or what I’ve done, but for who I am at my core.
I want to be seen, not through the lens of my mistakes, but through the truth of my growth.
I want to be loved, not for my usefulness, but for my presence.

Right now, it feels like everyone around me loves me for what they get from me.
But I want someone to love me simply because I exist.

14. Boundary Lines and Blurred Realities: Who Are We Really Protecting?

“A line imposed not to be crossed or pushed against.”
That’s how we often define a boundary—a clear rule, a firm expectation.

But here’s the irony I’ve come to realise:
The ones who shout loudest about boundaries are often the very ones who can’t seem to stay within them.

As parents, teachers, and so-called “grown-ups,” we draw these lines in the sand.
We say they’re for protection—“for the child’s own good.”
But what if they’re not?
What if the boundaries we create are less about safeguarding them… and more about shielding ourselves?

Because here’s the truth that no one wants to admit:
Kids today don’t follow rules just because we told them too.
They don’t sit neatly within the lines drawn for them.
They question, they push back, they rebel—and they’re right to.
Because what authority do we really hold when the world around them rewards rebellion and ignores consequence?

The power of a boundary only lasts as long as the person inside it chooses to respect it.
And in a society that constantly teaches “do what you want” and “rules are flexible,”
how can we expect our children to learn restraint, accountability, or discipline?

We say, “Stay in line.”
They ask, “Why? And what happens if I don’t?”

Maybe instead of building fences, we need to start building understanding.
Talking about why boundaries exist.
Explaining cause and effect.
Teaching real accountability—not just obedience.

A child who understands the why is far more powerful than a child who simply follows the what.

So the next time we draw a line, let’s ask ourselves:
Is this truly for their benefit… or for our comfort?

And then, let’s do the hard thing—
Have the conversation.
Not the command.

13.The Cost of Sharing: When Love Starts to Feel Like Second Place.

Sharing is not always caring.

Imagine meeting someone after years of guarding your heart. You let them in, slowly, cautiously. You begin to share your life—the pieces you don’t give easily. You support them through their storms, help them find their way when they’re lost… and just when you think you’ve built something unshakable, the balance shifts.

You fall on hard times, and instead of meeting you there, they find a new interest.
An interest that was meant to be shared.
But circumstances change, and now they’re doing it… alone.
With someone else.

What was once yours—a shared journey—becomes theirs.
And you’re left wondering, When did I stop being included?

You argue.
First, about what a “secret” really means.
To them, a delay in disclosure is deception.
To you, it was timing.
But suddenly you’re judged by standards they only apply when it suits them.

Then the second cut:
They call the new person a “benefit.”
Like you’re a cost.
Like the person who once lifted them up now offers nothing.
As if your value expired the moment someone else came into view.

The worst part?
You don’t even get the courtesy of pretending it’s all still equal.

You’re hearing less.
Being invited last.
Watching from the sidelines as they laugh and grow closer to someone new.
And all you get is:
“Oh, we’re going out—do you want to come?”

When did it stop being “we”?
When did you become the third wheel in your own relationship?

Cinema nights, bowling, ice cream runs, theater trips…
They choose everything—but not you.
You’re suddenly an option, not a priority.

But when it’s them needing support, suddenly you’re back on the frontline.
Expected to give without question, sacrifice without thought.
Funny how that works.

You’re no longer in the loop.
You’re finding out plans from the children.
You overhear conversations meant for you—but they’re now whispered to someone else.

And then the ultimate slap in the face:
“They remind me so much of you.”
Except… it isn’t you.
It’s someone who got the best parts of you through them—your time, your energy, your compassion—all passed on without your consent.

They took what was yours and offered it freely to someone else.

No wonder you feel betrayed.
No wonder your heart is breaking.
You weren’t asked to share—you were just expected to.
And when you questioned it, you were made to feel unreasonable.
Over-emotional.
Petty.

But you’re not.

You’re human.
You gave and gave and now you’re empty.
You feel pushed aside, replaced, devalued.
And you’re tired of pretending it doesn’t hurt.

This wasn’t about jealousy.
It was about respect.
And when that left, so did the safety in your bond.

So maybe it’s time to stop sharing what was never meant to be split in half.
Maybe it’s time to find what’s just yours again—before there’s nothing left to salvage.

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